


A Lump of Coal

by fhsa_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode Related, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-13
Updated: 2005-07-13
Packaged: 2019-02-05 19:06:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12800409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: co-written with Jami WilsenSkinner and Mulder spend Christmas together





	A Lump of Coal

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Determined to ignore the fact that he was facing yet another Christmas Day alone, Skinner decided to treat the day as any other day off. Not that he often took time off - but it had been known to happen. At least once... maybe even twice. 

 

Rising from the bed, he stumbled into the bathroom and followed his usual morning ritual--shower, shave, brush teeth--then he dug into his cache of 'casual' clothes. Settling on an old, worn out pair of sweat pants and an equally disreputable t-shirt, he dressed and headed down to make coffee. 

 

As he waited for the java to finish brewing, he considered just how to spend the day. First, a leisurely breakfast while reading the paper, then he'd start working on the repainting of his office. Yeah. That would work. And, maybe later, he'd watch 'The Sands of Iwo Jima' again. Good old Chesty Puller--now there was a MARINE! 

 

Mug of coffee in hand, he walked into the dining area, set it down, and headed over to retrieve the morning paper from the hallway. 

 

What the HELL? He froze, halfway across the living room, and stared in disbelief at the figure sleeping so soundly on his couch. 

 

Mulder. Of course. He really shouldn't be surprised at this; the man continually turned up at odd hours. And, he really, really didn't want to know how Mulder had managed to get in--so quietly that Skinner hadn't heard a thing. 

 

Crossing his arms on his chest, Skinner cleared his throat. Loudly. 

 

No response. 

 

"Mulder," he said. 

 

Still nothing. 

 

"MULDER!" 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Mulder was contentedly dreaming. For some reason, his dream shifted. He found himself in Skinner's office, just like old times when he'd still been in the FBI, working under the Assistant Director. True to form, Skinner raised his voice, calling his name. Then he bellowed. 

 

Startled awake, Mulder raised his head, blinking. "What? What! What?" He looked up at Skinner who was staring down at him with a frown. 

 

Dryly, Skinner replied, "I'm not even sure I want to know what you're doing here. When did you arrive?" 

 

Mulder sat up, feeling as if a large animal had been prancing on him. His entire body was stiff and sore, and he felt decidedly ragged around the edges. He yawned widely and rubbed at his face with both hands, then rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, sir--I mean, Walt. I had my run at 3:30 this morning... I couldn't sleep. Then I realized I needed to get out of the apartment." 

 

Skinner sighed. "Mulder, it's Christmas. Why aren't you with..." His voice trailed away. 

 

"Yeah," Mulder answered, meaningfully. "Right. How come I'm not with Scully? She's with her family. Her place is a bit full right now, what with the baby and all." 

 

"Mulder, you ARE William's father." 

 

"Absentee-father. Impregnation, long distance. That test-tube was a glass partition, Walt. Couldn't even use it as a condom. Come on; you know I love Dana. And the--my son. But we don't 'live together' very well. She gets too upset with me. She keeps complaining about me, saying that my lifestyle isn't suited to hers or adaptive enough to include taking care of an infant. I think she might be right. That baby stuff is way over my head." 

 

"Well, not that I blame you. It's not for everyone, that's for sure. I can see how you might find it..." Skinner stopped and regarded him suspiciously. "But why HERE? Why are you here?" 

 

"Well, how come YOU'RE not with..." he let his sentence trail off in a deliberate mimicry of Skinner's. He knew he was throwing the gauntlet back at Skinner, but hell, why couldn't he drop in? Walt was a friend. One of his very few friends, in point of fact. Where the hell ELSE would he go? 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Brow furrowed, Skinner stared at Mulder. Who the hell did the man think he'd be spending the holiday with? Hell, Mulder, more than most, knew how solitary Skinner's life was. 

 

Then he saw it, started to catch on... Mulder was playing him--just as always. Dropping vague hints, outrageous innuendo. The man was determined to drive him insane. Even now that they no longer worked together, Mulder was playing his little games. Looking for a reaction. 

 

The little shit! 

 

Skinner shrugged casually. "All my lovers are out of town. With THEIR families. I had several invitations, but decided that spending the holiday with one of them would only lead to heartbreak--after all, I wouldn't want to give anyone the wrong idea." 

 

He'd done it--finally managed to render Mulder speechless. Feeling quite pleased with himself, Skinner opened the door and grabbed the paper. When he turned back, Mulder was still staring at him with wide eyes, curious eyes, surprised eyes. 

 

YES! 

 

"Coffee's done. Hit the can and then join me in the dining room. I made the coffee--YOU can cook us a nice breakfast." 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Still dumb, Mulder watched as Skinner turned and went into the kitchen. 

 

His 'lovers'? What the FUCK? Mulder got up with legs made of rubber and crossed his arms before him, leaning against the doorframe. Skinner was in the kitchen pouring himself another cup of coffee. 

 

Skinner turned, raised one brow at him and said, "Do you have a problem, Mulder?" 

 

"I--that is, no. No, I don't. Um...you..." Mulder took in Skinner's bland expression but he didn't miss the twinkle in his eyes. 

 

Mulder narrowed his eyes in return. So it's gonna be like THAT, huh? Fine. He quickly continued, "Well, do you mind if I just go help myself to a shower? Wouldn't want to spend Christmas reeking, after all. Um, are you sure you want me to cook breakfast? I'm not very good with eggs. I can do it, but you might not be pleased with the results." 

 

Skinner fixed him with a steady gaze. "Is that a threat, Mulder?" 

 

Mulder grinned widely back at him. "No, it's a warning. I won't be long. Uh, the bathroom's the first door on the left, upstairs, yeah?" At Skinner's nod, Mulder peeled himself away from the doorframe and sauntered upstairs, chuckling quietly to himself. 

 

As he undressed, he couldn't help the thrill that went through him at knowing that he'd managed to not only recover well from Skinner's deadpan teasing of him, but upset the man's poise by using his shower AND getting out of cooking breakfast. 

 

As he stepped into the shower, he sniffed the air. Yep. The smell of something frying came to him. He identified it as bacon. Laughing, he stepped under the hot spray. 

 

Still, no way was he going to let go of Skinner's little crack about his lovers --plural. No. He was going to hound him about it until Skinner regretted ever having mentioned it. Unless...it was true. No, no--it couldn't be. Mulder put the thought from his mind, carefully ignoring the little shaft of dismay that went through him when he considered the possibility. 

 

As he washed his hair, he whistled tunelessly, wondering why Walt had shampoo in the shower in the first place... 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Mulder reappeared just in time--Skinner had just finished cooking the eggs and buttering the toast. He carried their plates in to the dining room, placing them on the table he'd set while Mulder was showering. 

 

Mulder showering. In HIS apartment. Naked. Wet. 

 

Oh boy. 

 

"Grab yourself a cup of coffee and sit down, Mulder," he ordered gruffly. 

 

"Yes, SIR!" 

 

Jesus, the man was impossible--however had he managed to NOT kill the smart-assed bastard, Skinner wondered. He watched as Mulder walked back in to take his seat and noticed... 

 

"Mulder, are you wearing my clothes?" 

 

"Not much sense in showering only to put on dirty clothes, wouldn't you agree?" The comment made sense--but that smirk... 

 

His former agent was just itching for an argument, Skinner was all too familiar with the signs. Well, it wouldn't work. Not today. 

 

With a nod, Skinner agreed, "You're right. They're a little large on you, but, I suppose that's good--wouldn't want you to feel constricted in any way." He was NOT, he decided, going to even think about Mulder searching through his dresser for something to wear. 

 

Mulder's eyes narrowed again, and he stared at Skinner with suspicion. Then his face cleared, he smiled, and spoke, "So, tell me, Walt, just how many lovers do you have?" 

 

"Rather a personal question, don't you think?" 

 

"Oh, I don't know. After all, we ARE friends, right?" 

 

Skinner conceded this with a nod. "True. We are friends--but that doesn't mean we have to know everything about each other. A little mystery is always a good thing in a... friendship." 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Mulder tucked into his piece of toast and munched around a swallow of coffee, biding his time. Considering. 

 

He wasn't stupid. Mulder knew, almost instinctively, that Walter knew that he was well aware of Walter's attraction to him. Just as Walter knew Mulder was aware that Walter KNEW Mulder cared about him...but was equally as careful about not ever letting it show too much. Wouldn't be very manly, would it, to prance around making like Nathan Lane in the Hoover Building after his boss? Ex-boss. Hmm. He stifled a chuckle at the thought. 

 

"I agree," he nodded, finally. "Um, so. Walt. What are your plans for today?" 

 

Skinner was eating his eggs and bacon. "Mulder, are you any good with brushes, skirting boards, edging... and white matte emulsion?" 

 

Mulder stared back at him, his toast hanging forgotten from his hand. In disbelief, he asked, "You want me to... help you PAINT? Today?" 

 

Mildly, Skinner asked, "What is so extraordinary about painting on Christmas, if I may ask?" 

 

Uncomfortably, Mulder shifted in his seat. "Well, nothing, I guess. Just doesn't seem very... celebrational. It's not really a Christmasey endeavor, is it?" 

 

"To be honest with you, Mulder, I'm going to do exactly what I had planned to spend the day doing, regardless of whether you're here or not. You're welcome to join me in painting the office, and then sitting through John Wayne's inspired performance of the re-enactment of the taking of Iwo Jima. Followed by a shot of whisky to 'celebrate' this joyous and festive holiday. Interested?" 

 

Mulder nodded, slowly. "Actually, I'd love to. I won't be in the way?" 

 

Skinner shot him a look and picked up his newspaper. 

 

Mulder's lips twitched. He returned to chewing on his toast, and then began clearing up the eggs from his plate. Skinner had opened the paper and now had it up, blocking him from view. Mulder rolled his eyes. 

 

Skinner said from behind the paper, "Mulder, didn't your mother ever warn you not to make faces? Or it'll freeze that way." 

 

Mulder stilled, wondering if Skinner had somehow developed x-ray vision--hell, maybe that was it. Santa had left Skinner some advanced new contact lenses that enabled the wearer to see through solid objects... Superman had nothing on THAT. In fact- 

 

Skinner added, "Mulder, would you put on some more coffee?" 

 

Amiably, Mulder replied, "Sure, darling. You just sit and read the paper, I'll clear up here." 

 

As he got up, he heard something that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed chuckle from behind the paper. 

 

Mulder's stomach tightened. Damn. He'd lost what edge he'd gained earlier. That's IT. This is war, he thought. He was going to get him back if it killed them both. Casually, he began picking up plates and forks and said, "How about we go out for dinner? I mean, I don't see any Christmas goose or turkey or..." he looked about the kitchen, "...a ham. Not even a Christmas ham." He tutted and shook his head, carrying the dishes to the sink. "Don't worry, Walt. I'm buying." 

 

* * * * * * *

 

"Look in the freezer." 

 

Curious, Mulder did so and, lo and behold--a ham. 

 

Skinner couldn't help smiling at the slightly wary expression that Mulder turned on him. "You don't expect ME to cook that, do you? 

 

"Heaven forbid," Skinner chuckled. "Just take it out so it can defrost." 

 

Mulder studied the lump of meat dubiously. "I take it Christmas dinner will be sometime around New Year's, then? This," he hefted the ham measuringly, "is gonna take DAYS to defrost." 

 

"Not if you fill the sink with water and let it sit there for a couple of hours," Skinner informed him patiently. "After you do the dishes, of course." 

 

"Right. The dishes. Tell me, Walter, exactly how did I get elected for that job? Do I LOOK domesticated to you?" 

 

Skinner laughed at the offended expression on Mulder's face. Really, the man was too much fun to tease. "No, Mulder. But, you've got to start somewhere-- and I cooked, so you clean up." 

 

"Uh huh." 

 

"That was always the rule in my Mother's house--and in Sharon's house." 

 

"Oh." Suddenly VERY quiet, Mulder started gathering dishes and piling them in the sink. "Walter... have you always been... I mean, have you ever-" 

 

"Mystery, Mulder. Mystery. If you're a good boy, we can talk about it later." Satisfied that he'd put Mulder in his place--for the moment--Skinner folded the paper and set it aside. "While you clean up, I'll go get the office ready for painting." He ignored Mulder's pained groan as he left the room. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

As Mulder dried the plates carefully and put them away in their home in the cupboard, and then turned to the silverware and the cups, he felt a decidedly comforting feeling descending over him. Maybe this whole domesticity thing wasn't quite as bad as he'd thought. He felt calm, soothed, even, by the simple ordinariness of the task. He didn't feel much of anything, just going through the motions, when he did the dishes at his own place. But here... it felt... cozy. 

 

And with Walter out of the room for a while, it gave him the chance to mull over what they had said. What WALTER had said. 

 

Mulder was suddenly very aware that he was treading a fine line. It was one thing to tease, and to try to poke at Walt, it was quite another to invite the man to dinner. And then to end up somehow inviting himself to dinner... A much more intimate setting than he had intended. 

 

He threw down the dishtowel, disgusted with himself, and leaned over the sink, closing his eyes. Why was he hiding from it? He wanted Walt. He just couldn't see how to bridge the gap of professionalism and discretion that had stopped either of them from ever acting on any impulse they might have felt, in all the long years of their acquaintance. The unspoken agreement had become a barrier. No matter how friendly, he felt he could never really truly be Walt's friend. Because of this niggling matter of 'desire'.... 

 

And, damn it, it WAS Christmas. And he was lonely. He couldn't understand how Walt wasn't feeling the same... 

 

Ah. That was it. Walt was hardly going to throw open his arms and give him a hug, crying on his shoulder. Maybe this was the only way they could play it without it degenerating into an awkward scene that was uncomfortable for both of them. 

 

So. The plan was still sound--full steam ahead. He finished tidying up the kitchen and then went in search of Skinner. 

 

Mulder found him in the office, carefully covering his furniture with dust sheets. "Shouldn't you really have emptied the room first?" Mulder asked. 

 

Skinner turned at the sound of his voice. "Yes, but I didn't really count on having you helping out here. I didn't think they'd be in any danger." 

 

"Ouch. You wound me, Walt. Just for that, I make no promises that your carpet might not get flecked." 

 

"If I see ANY evidence of flecking, Mulder, you're going to replace the carpet," Walter informed him. But there was a smile lurking in his voice. 

 

Gotcha, Mulder thought. Walt WAS enjoying his company, he liked having him here. He didn't dare analyze further at the moment. Just go with it, go with the flow, he reminded himself sternly. 

 

Then he realized he was standing there in Skinner's clothes. "Uh, Walt?" 

 

Skinner heaved a sigh. "What's wrong now?" 

 

"Well, these are your clothes. But if you don't mind me painting in them..." 

 

Skinner burst out laughing. "Mulder, haven't you ever heard of overalls? I might have something that will fit you. Come on." 

 

He led the way out of the office to the laundry room. Rifling through a cupboard, he withdrew two pairs of overalls and handed one to Mulder. "Go get changed, and meet me back in the office," he said. 

 

Abnormally passive and quiet, Mulder said, "Okay. Be right with you." No wise-cracks, nothing. 

 

Chuckling as he removed Walter's clothes, he thought, throw him off the scent. And then catch him off-guard when he starts relaxing. That's the way to go. The only way to keep this up. Can't afford to have him taking the rug out from under me, here. Play it cool, then BAM. 

 

And I've got to find out about this 'lovers' business, Mulder thought, suddenly aware he was far too obsessed with this topic. He shrugged, and returned to the office, where Skinner was already stirring a large bucket of paint. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Not surprisingly, Skinner found that the job of painting his office took much longer than if he'd done it himself. 

 

But- 

 

Damn! Mulder was cute. Concentrating so hard, putting such effort into doing a good job at something he was quite obviously not experienced at... And, in the process of painting, he'd managed to cover himself with blue specks. His hair, his face, his clothes - his NOSE, for god's sake. 

 

It took a huge amount of control, but he somehow managed to not fall down on the floor laughing at the sight - Mulder looked like he'd just returned from one of his more interesting X Files investigations. 

 

They chatted casually, discussing basketball, football, and alien invasions... but not, Skinner noticed, Scully or the baby. As the hours passed, his curiosity grew by leaps and bounds. Just exactly what HAD gone on between them? 

 

He studied Mulder's face, liking the relaxed expression, and decided not to broach the subject. Maybe later... after a couple of drinks. 

 

"There." Skinner set his brush down on a piece of newspaper and nodded satisfactorily. "All done. I'll go put the ham in the oven - you clean up in here." 

 

"Cleaning up again? What am I, your personal maid?" Mulder frowned, then pouted at him. 

 

With a grin, Skinner shrugged. "Well, if you'd really rather take care of the ham, I can..." 

 

"No, no," Mulder hastened to reply. "I'll do it - no problem. Really. I don't mind." 

 

//Somehow, given that choice, I didn't think you would// 

 

"If you're sure," Walter teased. 

 

"Oh, I'm sure, sir. Positive!" 

 

"Okay then," Skinner paused before leaving the room. "Since you're doing the clean-up, you can have first dibs on the shower," he offered graciously. 

 

"Gee, thanks." 

 

Skinner ignored the grumbled comment and left the room. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Mulder showered for the second time that day, angrily scrubbing specks of splattered emulsion paint off of his face and body. He had imagined the overalls would protect him. Not so. And the overalls had proven not only useless in protecting him from paint splashes but also from the uncomfortable arousal that had stirred between his legs during that whole scene in Walt's office. Hours, it had taken. Standing around painting with a hard-on. What a day. 

 

When he was through, he turned on the cold water and blasted his body with the icy downpour to ensure that his erection would die down. 

 

It was starting to get to him. He'd miscalculated how this game with Skinner would affect him. Trying to bait him, trying to coax his way past Walter's shell. He hadn't counted on discovering the true depth of his own feelings. 

 

No, NO! He could rise to this occasion. He wouldn't allow himself to be thwarted because of his own Achilles' heel... his own need for companionship and solace. And truth be told, he wanted more than friendship. He had to go the distance or he'd end up with nothing, alienating Walt in the process. 

 

His resolve strengthened and his errant cock back under control, he dressed in Walt's clothes once more, and considered himself in the mirror. Lacking a comb, he raked his fingers through his damp hair and wondered exactly what his assets were, when it came to Walt. 

 

And what DID he really want from Walter? 

 

Fuck it. I want him, he thought. Why does it have to have a label? 

 

This thought was profoundly comforting. He went downstairs, cheerfully. Skinner had already put the ham in the oven and was preparing vegetables and potatoes. He glanced up at Mulder, did a double take, and then quickly looked down at the paring knife he was holding. 

 

Gotcha again, Mulder thought, grinning. "So. How can I help?" 

 

"Peel these and put them in the roasting pan," Skinner ordered, handing him the peeler. Then, as if in an after-thought, he added, "And put on an apron." 

 

"Why? You're not wearing one." 

 

"No, but you're wearing my clothes." 

 

Mulder shook his head. "I'll be careful. I'm not wearing an apron. There is only so far you can push the wifely trip on me. I will peel your potatoes, paint your walls, do your dishes and even scrub the floor, but I will not - I repeat NOT - wear that apron, and that, as they say, is that." He picked up the peeler and began peeling one of the potatoes. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

After making sure that Mulder could handle the job he'd been assigned, Skinner gave him a smile and said, "I'm gonna go get cleaned up now - back soon." 

 

"Sure," Mulder replied absently. 

 

In the shower, he couldn't help but snicker at the specks of blue decorating the walls from Mulder's recent - and apparently vigorous - scrubbing of himself. Which led to other thoughts... Which led to- 

 

"Ah," Skinner groaned with pleasure as he wrapped one hand around his stiff cock. God, that felt good. After an entire day of watching Mulder paint - bending, stretching, showing his very fine ass in a VERY tempting manner - Skinner was about to explode. And, after four firm strokes, he did just that. 

 

Leaning weakly against the shower wall, he scolded himself inwardly. Fool. Jerking off over Mulder. Letting Mulder get to him so easily. Dreaming that Mulder might actually agree to- 

 

//No. Not gonna go there. Not now// 

 

Gathering himself, Skinner washed up and got out of the shower. Then he shaved. Didn't choose to think about WHY he was shaving - for the second time that day. Definitely didn't think that his beard might mar Mulder's soft skin if they- 

 

No, he definitely didn't think about that. 

 

He shoved all such thoughts aside, and after dressing, he headed back to the kitchen. 

 

Where Mulder waited. Watched him expectantly. What? He looked around the room, searching for some reason for Mulder's oddly needy look. 

 

Ah. He'd cleaned up after himself. Rinsed the veggies and put them into a pan, ready to be cooked. The potatoes weren't in sight, so Walt decided to assume they were safely in the roasting pan with the ham. Mulder had wiped down the counters and table. He'd even washed the utensils he'd used. 

 

Sonofagun! 

 

Okay. He could do this. He SHOULD do this. "Thanks, Mulder. Everything looks good. We'll start the vegetables in a bit - first, I think we should have a glass of something holidayish... Eggnog okay with you?" 

 

"Sounds great," Mulder answered enthusiastically, smiling widely at both the praise and the offer of a reward. "What can I do to help?" 

 

Skinner smiled. "Not a thing - I'll take care of it. You go on in and turn on the television, I'll be right there." 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Mulder went out and looked around for the remote control. Locating it, he switched on the TV and then began looking through Walt's video collection. He found some interesting things but then saw 'The Sands of Iwo Jima'. Taking it off the shelf and out of its case, he shoved the video into the VCR. 

 

Sitting down on the sofa, he settled into it, making himself comfortable. Holding on to the remote control, he idly flipped channels, waiting for Walt. 

 

Cozy. Far too comfortable. This entire scene was so quiet and friendly and exactly why he'd come by in the first place, hoping to find it. 

 

He wondered if Skinner was beginning to suspect that the only reason he'd come by that morning was loneliness and insecurity on Christmas Day. The need to spend it with someone - ANYONE - just not alone. 

 

It was so frustrating; he couldn't think of a way of making a pass at Walt without making a complete fool of himself. It didn't help that Walt was already aware that he knew Walt wanted him; it went beyond the boundary of their tacit barrier erected so long ago. 

 

Nibbling on a fingernail, he waited. And waited. 

 

Finally, Skinner came back out with two glasses and a bottle of eggnog. Setting it down on the table before them, he began to fill the glasses. 

 

Watching Skinner pour, noting the fine hairs on his wrist, the big hands... Mulder squirmed in place. Fuck. How the hell was he going to get through this movie? He could all too easily imagine what it would feel like, having those hands moving on his body, Walt's mouth... A pang of lust shot through his lower belly and he winced, tearing his eyes back to the TV. 

 

I will not jump him, I will not jump him, Mulder began repeating silently to himself. 

 

Skinner held out a glass. "Here. Enjoy. Now, let's watch this film while the ham cooks." 

 

Just like me. Stewing in its own juices, thought Mulder, wryly. "Thanks. Uh, I already put it in. Here," and he handed Skinner the remote control. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

'The Sands of Iwo Jima' had long been one of Skinner's favorite movies. Really. He'd never had the least problem concentrating on it, even after watching it so many times. 

 

Until tonight. 

 

Because Mulder kept LOOKING at him. As if Walt, not ham, was on the menu for dinner. 

 

Not that he minded, exactly... he just wondered- Oh, fuck it. "So, Mulder, where do you stand with Scully now? I mean - are you... um, lovers?" 

 

Mulder blushed. And squirmed. "We tried." 

 

"You tried." Skinner repeated incredulously. "What the hell does THAT mean?" 

 

"Well, I thought - and she thought - that we should, you know? 'Cause of William, I guess." He sighed and ran shaky fingers through his ruffled hair. "But it was... we just... couldn't. She kept laughing at me - I think because she was nervous - and, well, you know what THAT will do to a guy... So, that was the end of that. Never tried again." 

 

"You said just this morning that you loved her, Mulder. Why...?" 

 

"I do love her, Walt. But, not that way. More like a sister or best friend - or both." Eyes fixed on the television, Mulder continued in a quiet voice, "There's someone else I'm interested in - have feelings for - but I've never done anything about it. I... he's... " 

 

HE? 

 

"He who?"

 

Mulder rolled his eyes, even as his blush intensified. "He you, Walter. Hell, why do you think I came HERE last night? Wanted to spend the holiday with you." 

 

At a loss for words, Skinner could only stare at Mulder in stunned amazement. Yeah, he'd known that the younger man was interested, but shit, Mulder flirted as a matter of course - with everyone. He'd never really thought that it meant anything more than Mulder being Mulder. And now... DAMN! 

 

He didn't remember moving, but the evidence was incontrovertible - he'd definitely moved. His body was pressed against Mulder's, his hands were moving restlessly across Mulder's shoulders and he was kissing Mulder. 

 

* * * * * * *

Mulder couldn't believe it. One moment, Skinner was sitting on the other side of the sofa, a tactful, manly distance away. The next, the man was all over him, holding him, warm lips against his - delightfully so. 

 

His brain seemed to have turned off temporarily, which was just fine with him. Damn thing always had been a distraction. He concentrated instead on returning the kiss. No way was he letting Walt go now. 

 

After what seemed like an eternity, but what had to have been only a minute, Skinner abruptly pulled back. His hands notably remained on Mulder's shoulders, however. 

 

"I - Mulder, I-" 

 

Mulder quickly brought up a hand and put his fingers to Skinner's mouth, temporarily shushing him. "I want this, you want this. Let's not ruin it by worrying about it. The less said, the better." And he believed that; he really did. 

 

But Skinner apparently did not. He let out a breath. "Mulder, I have to say this. I'm not doing this just because it's Christmas, or because you're my friend. It isn't too late for you to back out gracefully. If you don't want anything too serious, I'm afraid I can't oblige you. It's been too long in the growing. I'm sorry." 

 

Jesus, the wistful concern in Walter's voice! And the way he was still clutching him, tightly. He definitely didn't want Mulder to leave, that much was certain. 

 

He cleared his throat and settled into Walter's embrace, leaning into him. "Okay. I'm not going anywhere. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't have come. I'd like something serious with you, but first, there's... there's one little matter that needs clearing up." 

 

"And that would be...?" Skinner was so obviously trying to sound detached but the worry in his tone clenched at Mulder's insides. 

 

"Uh, about that earlier thing. You said you had lovers, not just a lover but more than one. I was wondering if there was anything to it, or if you were just yanking my chain. I can understand if there is. I mean, it's not like you're an unattractive guy. I can't believe that there wouldn't be a path being beaten to your door, here. And I wouldn't want you to think that I'm-" 

 

"Mulder," Skinner interrupted him. "You're babbling." 

 

Mulder took a breath, staring back into Walter's brown eyes, understanding in that very moment exactly what they had held all these years past. "I am, aren't I? It's kind of understandable, under the circumstances. I don't-" 

 

Skinner's mouth covered his again, effectively shutting him up. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Finally, after all these years, he'd discovered the perfect method for stopping Mulder's incessant chatter. Of course, it might not have been the best way to handle an employee, and it may well have given Scully heart failure, but it sure as hell worked now. 

 

"Walter," Mulder mumbled into his mouth, meaningfully. 

 

"No one else, Mulder," he tore his mouth away long enough to give assurance. "Yanking your chain." 

 

Then - good GOD, where had Mulder been hiding all this passion? - Walter found himself flat on his back with a desperately hungry Mulder draped on top of him. Their hips ground together as they exchanged a heated kiss, both groaning at the pleasure. 

 

With both hands holding Walter's shoulder's down, Mulder began an exploration of his neck. Managed to find THAT spot - the one behind his right ear - and seemed to be quite proud of the enthusiastic response Walter couldn't hold back. 

 

Once Skinner was reduced to the occasional whimper, Mulder pulled back, sitting on his hips, and smiled triumphantly. "Bed," he said. 

 

"Uuuh," Walter answered. 

 

"Bed or floor," Mulder urged. "Couch? Table? Hallway?" 

 

Skinner snorted. "I'm not as young as I used to be, Mulder. Bed." 

 

* * * * * * *

 

With his mind whirling, scarcely able to believe his luck, Mulder staggered with Walter into the bedroom. Mulder staggered with Walter into the bedroom. As he pulled Walt's clothing off, then his own, he realized that for the first time he could go ahead and openly, unabashedly drool. With a grin, he looked Skinner's body up and down. His frank admiration was returned however, chocolate brown eyes wandering appreciatively over his body until Mulder could feel the heat rising in his face. 

 

He held out a hand. "Come on, I want to be horizontal with you." 

 

Skinner took his hand but pulled him in, so that they ended up pressing up against each other, skin to skin, face to face... and cock to equally hard cock. It was too much. Mulder groaned aloud, then whimpered, rubbing up against Skinner. 

 

"Mulder, it isn't that far to the bed," Skinner muttered breathlessly. "Just a few more steps." 

 

"Then take us there," Mulder ordered impatiently.

 

Laughing in spite of himself, Skinner walked them both to the bed. Mulder fell onto it, enjoying the abandon of the act, pulling Skinner down with him, atop him. 

 

Skinner's mouth was roving over his again, trapping him in the unspeakably wonderful warmth of drowning in the kiss that was different than before. Somehow, Skinner seemed to be enjoying having Mulder under him... 

 

Turning his face to one side, Mulder gulped a few breaths before saying, "Walt, I--uh, want you in me. I really want it." 

 

Skinner seemed paralyzed by his suggestion, staring down at Mulder in the dim light of the room with what appeared to be astonishment. Also, a little bit of hope. "Are you sure, Mulder?" 

 

A firm nod. "Been thinking about it for a while now." 

 

"Have you, indeed?" 

 

"Yeah. About seven years, I think. The seven-year itch." And he chuckled. 

 

 

Skinner grinned down at him. "Seven years, huh? I think I can top that. I've been thinking about it since we met." 

 

Disgruntled, Mulder frowned, and pulled him down for another wet, long kiss. 

 

His cock was starting to ache from inattention though. Being caught between their two bodies didn't quite give the relief he sought. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

This really HAD been too long in the making, Walter realized. It would be fast and furious. He knew himself well enough to know that much--and, judging from the way Mulder was clinging to him, rubbing against him and making increasingly impatient noises--Mulder was in the same situation. 

 

Breaking away from the kiss long enough to fumble around in the bedside table for supplies, he met Mulder's intent gaze seriously. "You have done this before?" 

 

"Yeah. Long time ago--but, yeah." 

 

Okay--maybe not quite as fast as he'd hoped. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Mulder. He set the condom aside for the moment and opened the lube, squeezing a generous amount onto his fingers. Mulder watched avidly, pulling his knees up and resting his feet flat on the mattress. "Hurry up, Walt." 

 

"Take it easy, Mulder. I'll fuck you, don't worry--but I WON'T hurt you. So we'll do this my way--at my pace." 

 

"Are you gonna boss me around in bed, too?" Mulder whined. 

 

"Shut up, Mulder." A slick finger pressing along his perineum distracted Mulder enough that no more complaints were forthcoming--for the moment anyway. He sighed and then groaned when that finger found his asshole. 

 

Skinner couldn't believe it--not one whit of hesitation could he see on Mulder's face. No last minute fear or doubt--just pleasure. And eagerness. Desire. 

 

For him. 

 

Carefully, first with one finger, then two, then finally with three, he loosened Mulder, enjoying the open way his explorations were welcomed. Eventually, though, Mulder grew impatient again. "Christ, Walt--you gonna get down to business or what?" 

 

* * * * * * *

 

He was sure of it now: Walter Skinner was enjoying driving him over the edge into insanity. If Walt didn't fuck him now, now, NOW-- 

 

Rising up over him, and placing the head of his cock against Mulder's anus, Skinner pushed into him. Slick, burning, filling and entirely robbing him of breath, the penetration left Mulder gasping. He scrabbled aimlessly with his hands at the covers of the bed, every nerve in his body now forgotten except for those so thrilled by the thickness filling his ass. It wasn't bad or good, it was overwhelming. It was so far beyond the usual pleasures he was used to. Sexual satisfaction was being redefined for him. Mulder grew conscious of the fact that Skinner was staring down at him with a look of utmost concentration. 

 

"Jesus, do it, fuck me, now," he breathed. 

 

With a look of mingled tenderness and possessiveness, Skinner slid deep into him, all the way, until Mulder could feel weighty balls resting against his flesh. Then Skinner pulled back out slightly, only to slide in again, harder this time. 

 

Beyond words, Mulder just moaned. He didn't want tenderness; he wanted to surrender, to give in, to feel his control ripped from him. "Harder, harder," he insisted, finally. 

 

Obligingly, Skinner seemed to let go a little more of his own restraint and began to thrust into him with increased zeal, an expression of admiration and aggressive passion playing across his features as he stared back down into Mulder's eyes with dark, dark pupils. 

 

It was the most frighteningly intimate act of sex that Mulder had ever engaged in, with anyone, ever. He almost panicked, and forced himself to keep looking back into Skinner's gaze. He wanted it, so badly... And yet now that it had arrived, he couldn't help feeling himself blush, his skin hot not just in his cheeks but all over his body. He was on fire, and he could feel himself shaking with the need to let go. To give himself up. With every shove into him, his prostate was shooting stars and streamers back up to his brain. 

 

His desperation grew, even as Skinner started thrusting his cock into him faster, and Mulder cried out. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

The heat of Mulder's ass, the unabashed pleasure on his face, the incredible stream of encouraging noises coming from him, proved too much for Walter. His eyes still fixed with wonder on Mulder, he pounded into that tight warmth abandoning any attempt at control. He wanted... He needed... 

 

Mulder arched and screamed, convulsing as his orgasm was ripped from him. Streams of come decorated both of them before Mulder finally quieted, relaxing into the bed with a shaky moan. 

 

Amazingly, Skinner held out long enough to enjoy the vision of Fox Mulder completely lost in pleasure before his own climax began to hit him with all the delicacy of a freight train. He closed his eyes and jerked wildly into Mulder's tight, hot channel, finally dropping the pretense that he'd ever wanted anything but to fuck this man unspeakably hard. 

 

Mulder's limbs were deliciously supple and draped over him, long, long legs tightly holding him close as he rode Mulder's ass. Like wildfire sweeping through his blood and washing away his ability to think or even dream, his orgasm engulfed and drowned him, sending him into paroxysms of pleasure, driving his cock into Mulder--Fox Mulder, so long denied him--and he sobbed out a last few moans as he felt his seed flooding into Mulder and surrounding his cock with yet more heat. 

 

When Walter gradually became aware once more of where he was, the combined sensations and sounds, the smells, it was too much. It was a cornucopia of wealth that he'd never imagined he'd ever be able to sample, let alone revel in. Christmas, indeed! 

 

He knew full well that his face sported a disgustingly contented smile, but at that moment he just couldn't bring himself to care. When Mulder shifted beneath him and muttered something incomprehensible, it occurred to him that the younger man probably needed to breathe. 

 

Muscles weakened by the aftermath of sex-with-Mulder, however, were not showing any signs of cooperation with the commands for movement his brain was sluggishly sending out. 

 

Mulder stirred again and said, quite clearly, if a little desperately, "Move!" 

 

Walter's body, while ignoring his own requests for just that, decided that it would respond to Mulder's voice. With a tortured groan, he lifted his body and shifted to lay on one side, one leg still loosely draped over Mulder's splayed limbs. 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Mulder's mind was a haze of two very different perceptions. One the one hand, he felt utterly satiated, entirely happy with the outcome and completely content with having had sex with Walter. On the other, he felt mentally restless and insecure. What did this mean for their relationship? Never mind that they'd just done the 'wild thing' together, and it had been admittedly far better than he'd ever fantasized--but he couldn't help wondering if it would ever happen again, if it was a fluke or just something that they'd feel awkward about later? 

 

With these considerations rattling around his brain, he tried to simply enjoy the sensation of Walter's body against his own. In a post-coital stupor, Walter was already breathing steadily, drifting away. Mulder wanted to follow him into sleep but he couldn't shake the doubts that were beginning to erode his joy in what they'd just done. Sternly, he told himself to shut up and stop making problems where there probably weren't any, but he'd been wanting this for so long, it was hard for him to simply 'prepare' emotionally for the inevitable scene where Walter would suggest 'it had been a mistake'. Those years' worth of walls they'd just torn down would no doubt have a lingering effect on their long-term plans. Had they just jeopardized what friendship they had? 

 

Oddly enough, he was unable to tell when he actually slipped into sleep, despite his doubts. 

 

Mulder awoke abruptly to the smell of burning. He reacted instinctively, sitting bolt upright in bed, jarring Walter beside him as Walt's leg fell away from his body. "Something's burning," he said. He turned but Walt was out like a light. Shaking him, he said, "Walt. Hey, Walter! I think the ham is done." 

 

Walt snorted, huffed, and his eyes flew open. Then he groaned. "Oh, no." 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Well shit. Skinner stood in front of the stove, staring forlornly at their now burnt-to-a-crisp dinner. 

 

Moving quietly, Mulder walked up to stand beside him. He eyed the ham with more than a touch of suspicion. "Don't even try to tell me we're gonna eat that." 

 

Skinner chose not to honor that remark with a response. Instead, he carefully picked up the oven mitts, donned them, and moved the baking pan to the stovetop. Then, still in silence and with great attention to detail, he turned on the exhaust fan and walked into the living room to open the balcony door. 

 

He knew Mulder was watching him, waiting for a reaction of some kind. But, this time, Skinner played it smart--well, smarter than he usually did in situations of personal embarrassment. Instead of taking it out on the person unfortunate enough to have been witness to said embarrassment, Walt counted to ten--eight and a half times. 

 

It worked, though. Much calmer, quite proud of the fact that he'd managed to suppress his instinctive anger response, Walter turned to face Mulder's amusement, opening his mouth to make some face-saving joke about the fact that dinner was inedible. Once he caught a look at the expression on Mulder's face, however, he froze.. What the fuck was going on there? Mulder looked wary and... expectant. 

 

Expectant. 

 

Walt took a moment to consider. When it hit him, he took a deep breath. Never a good idea to forget history when dealing with Mulder. "Relax," he said softly, moving a step closer. "I'm mad at myself--not you. Not mad, exactly, anyway." 

 

With a nod, Mulder relaxed marginally. 

 

He still looked more than a little wary, though. 

 

Okay, so he needed more. Skinner could do that. "I'm more embarrassed than anything, actually. I uh--never did handle that well." 

 

That helped--a little. Mulder allowed a slight smile to turn up one corner of his mouth. On the down side, he stuck his hands deep into the pockets of the sweats he now wore. 

 

He had to think about this a little more. There was still just a hint of... of something he couldn't quite identify lurking in Mulder's eyes. It reminded him of something he'd seen before... Someone? No. Of course not--not someone in the strictest sense. 

 

He'd had this dog when he was a kid. A mutt, really, nothing special. But, Walt had loved him. His dad had brought that dog home one night from work. Handed it over to ten-year old Walter's keeping, with careful instructions. Stuff about how the dog had been abused by its owner, how they'd taken it to a local vet after the owner's death. That he would have to be very patient and kind with it, because it's trust had been betrayed by the person it loved. 

 

And, that damned dog had gotten the same look in his eyes whenever he did something that he expected to be punished for. 

 

Punishment and Mulder... 

 

Walter had said--and by all appearances, Mulder believed him--that he wasn't angry over the ham burning up. So, that wasn't it. 

 

Punishment and Mulder... 

 

What was going on in that brilliant but warped mind? 

 

Mulder shrugged a little defensively under Skinner's steady regard. 

 

Defensively. 

 

Ah ha. Of course. What was the ultimate betrayal in Mulder's book? 

 

To be left. Everyone left Mulder. 

 

"Hey, I'm sorry I let dinner burn up." Skinner smiled ruefully before continuing. "I'm not sure what we'll eat now, but I spent a small fortune at the grocery store last week--I'll find something. We have to eat before we go to bed. I'm an old man, you know, and I think that--with you around now--I'll be needing my strength." 

 

* * * * * * *

 

He couldn't help but grin at the absurdity of what Skinner had just said. "You're not old, Walter. How many times am I gonna have to remind you of that? And besides, it was... kind of my fault that we lost the ham. I mean, if I hadn't distracted you--" 

 

"Distracted, hell," Skinner scoffed. "I jumped you on the couch. You didn't stand a chance." 

 

"Yeah, but I was making eyes at you, sir," Mulder said, his grin widening. 

 

Skinner's face took on a pained expression. "You don't have to call me that." 

 

"Okay, Walt. So, what are we going to eat?" 

 

Opening the fridge, Walter got out cold meat, leftovers, potato salad and more Christmasey dishes that he'd obviously planned to have with the ham. "I think this'll do." 

 

Mulder sat down across from him with two plates and forks and said, "What are we going to do for Boxing Day?" 

 

"About what?" 

 

"To pass the time. I'd really rather not do any more painting, if you don't mind." Mulder waited, wondering how Skinner would respond to the implicit suggestion that he'd be staying the day with Walt--rather than returning home. 

 

Apparently, Skinner took it in his stride. "Fine. But no B-movie sci-fi classics, either." 

 

Relief flooded over Mulder. At least Walt wasn't going for the ultra-serious angle. And he didn't look like he was getting trapped in a quiet Thou-Shalt-Not-Sleep-With-Ex-Employees state of mind either... "Certainly not. Those wouldn't be very Christmasey, would they? Is that even a word? Christmasey?" 

 

"It is," Skinner said firmly, helping himself to the cranberry sauce. "Are you sure that you don't have anything better to do tomorrow?" 

 

Mulder swallowed his mouthful and considered this. "Walt," he started, and then took a breath. "I'd like for us to be friends--even closer friends. I think we could handle the friendship as well as the relationship." 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Oh geez. There was that word. Walter really, really hated it when that word came up in conversation. Especially conversations with those he was in lo- 

 

Good god, no. No. Oh no, absolutely not! 

 

Thinking quickly, Walter stuffed a forkful of potato salad in his mouth so he wouldn't be expected to respond for a moment. Maybe even two, if he chewed really slowly. The strategy had seldom worked on Sharon, but maybe with Mulder... 

 

Looking up, Walt noted the narrow-eyed stare Mulder fixed on him. 

 

Walter shrugged innocently, and chewed more quickly. What he needed here was a Diversion. A good one. Get Mulder's mind off of whatever suspicious track it was headed down, and do it quickly. And thereby gain himself a few moments to come to terms with the fact that he had gone and done IT. 

 

Oh yeah. He'd done it, all right. Gone and fallen in love with Mulder. 

 

Mulder cleared his throat meaningfully. 

 

He swallowed hastily, took a sip of his wine and cleared his throat. "I'm sure we can, Mulder. We can handle both with no problem, because they're so intertwined we couldn't possibly separate them. We both knew that going in." 

 

Mulder grinned, finally relaxed completely, and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I'll know better, won't I, once I've, er... gone in?" 

 

Gotcha, Skinner thought, with fierce inner triumph. On the outside, however, he simply smiled and shrugged. "I suppose you will, at that." 

 

* * * * * * *

 

Mulder was trying hard not to chortle with glee. Not only had he managed to get Skinner to admit that it was more than just friendship, but they were both going into this with their eyes wide open. Content at last, his doubts soothed away, he sat back in his seat and said, "There's just one thing that's bugging me." 

 

Walter raised a brow at him. "And that would be--?" 

 

"What about the ham? Why are you saving it? It's completely carbonized." 

 

"For your stocking, Mulder." 

 

Mulder was chuckling silently inside but he adopted a slight pout and slouched. "Oh. I guess I wasn't that good then, huh?" 

 

Skinner took in his pout and added, "Don't worry. You'll have plenty of chances to make up for it." His lips twitched. "Besides, you WERE making eyes at me." 

 

Helping himself to potato salad, Mulder nodded "You're right. Next time, I'll jump you, okay?" 

 

"It isn't a contest," Skinner said, smiling. 

 

"No," agreed Mulder, "it's a rota. We'll take it in turns." 

 

Skinner regarded him, his face softening. "That sounds like something I could get used to." 

 

"Believe me, Walt, by the time a week is out, you'll be thoroughly bored with it." 

 

"It'll take me a lot longer than a week, Mulder." 

 

Whoa. That was interesting... "Exactly how long do you estimate it will take-- just out of curiosity?" 

 

With a straight face, Skinner replied, "Oh, I'd say about fifty years." 

 

Mulder opened his mouth, about to make a quip about neither of them being around in fifty years, when it suddenly hit him what Skinner was saying. Really saying. He stared back at Skinner, and murmured, "Yeah, I reckon you're right about that. There's just one thing, sir..." 

 

Skinner sighed. "There always is." 

 

"Uh, I haven't got a stocking. Can I borrow one of yours?" 

 

End


End file.
